Memorium
by BuckeyeBelle
Summary: Two soldiers remember.


Memorium – by Becky Ratliff

(A.N. Transformers belongs to Hasbro and whoever they have allowed the rights to it, which certainly doesn't include me. No money has been made from this fanfic and no copyright infringement is intended.

This story is probably set in the Sidhe Chronicles verse, but actually it could be in any post-movie verse where Ironhide is alive in 2012. Dedicated to the memory of those who fell on 9/11 and all the years following. Never forget.

Thanks to my beta, Vivianne Grainger. /A.N)

Gunfire echoed over the proving grounds early one September morning.

Unlike the previous ten eleventh days of September, there was little fanfare this year. There had been a brief assembly after colors, the base flag at half staff. Lennox had said a few formal and ultimately meaningless words as the CO, and then there had been a much more expressive moment of silence. Tears filled eyes much more accustomed to a steely stare.

And then everyone had gone about their duties.

Lennox emptied a magazine, ejected it and replaced it in a series of motions so well-practiced as to be unconscious. Just as methodically, he reeled in his target, laid it aside, and hung another.

He didn't really register the sound of transformation nearby. It was Ironhide; he recognized his brother's presence even before he made a sound—and the big mech could move pretty quietly when he wanted.

"Will."

It was only when the Cybertronian spoke to him that Lennox lowered his sidearm.

"You're using that small weapon. You ain't shooting 'Cons today."

"No, Hide. I'm not."

"Y'know, I just figured something out. Today, it's eleven vorns since the first Battle of Praxus."

Lennox engaged the safety and holstered the sidearm, then turned to his friend. "That's the one that was considered the beginning of the..."

"Yeah. That's when the 'Cons started winning, pushing us back to Iacon. At the time, we didn't see it. They'd held Kaon, Vos, some of the other city-states, forever. Iacon was loyal to the Prime, and Simfur, to the All-Spark. The border changed every time there was a skirmish, and a few orns later, we took Praxus back. We didn't know then, those skirmishes had just become a war of attrition that was going to eat up all the resources Cybertron had left—energon, materials, sparks. Looking back, it became obvious, that battle was the beginning of the end. You knew the exact moment when everything changed."

"Were you in it? When Praxus fell?"

"No. I was in Iacon, one of Optimus' guard. By the time we got there, the 'Cons had dug in. They were holding civilian hostages, and Optimus decided to try to negotiate with Megs even though he knew the glitch wouldn't deal, to buy time for Jazz and Prowl to come up with something to get the civilians out. And they did. They found a way down through the underground—far enough down that they went through an abandoned Insecticon hive on the way—and when we staged an assault to draw attention, they blew an entrance into the forum where the civilians were being held and led 'em out that way. Prowl was Praxian, and he knew those tunnels backwards and forwards. But when the bots started pourin' down the drain, that Pit-be-damn' Shockwave started dropping shells in the forum. Thousands didn't make it out—but tens of thousands did."

"You gotta think about the ones you can save."

"Yeah, I know. Prowl's battle computer—he'd figured the losses pretty much down to the bot, and planned where to breach the forum to get the greatest number out. He and Jazz and the black ops mecha, instead of running through the tunnels with the refugees they hung around and city and harried the 'Cons. That's how we won, threw their battle lines into disarray and killed a slag ton of 'em. Then, after they retreated, Prowl crashed hard. I don't think he would've come out of it, if it hadn't been for Jazz. But, we didn't actually win. The refugees fled to Iacon, and never resettled Praxus. It was the first city to fall to ruins."

Will shook his head, having seen enough warfare and then some to understand the scenes Ironhide was describing. "Man."

"Were you in one of the cities that got hit on 9/11?"

"No, I was stationed at Fort Benning, in Georgia, then. But I lost friends at the Pentagon. It was a little while after that, before we actually got into it. They gave the Taliban a chance to turn over Osama bin Laden, and when they didn't, well, you know where things went from there."

Ironhide grunted an affirmative. "And then we stuck our peds right in the middle of it. That was some great timin' we had there, huh."

"I guess," Will said. He paused, and Ironhide could tell that he was far away, with thoughts he didn't like. Then Will shook himself and said, "I'm afraid we're forgetting. Tens of thousands of our boys and girls are still over there, and—hell, it doesn't always get a mention anymore."

"You gotta go on, especially when a war drags on like this. This Afghanistan conflict, if a year for you is like a vorn for us...it probably feels as long to you as the decline did to us. The only way to keep goin' is to try for normal—whatever the frag that is. That don't mean anybody forgets—_ever."_

"There are _fifth and sixth graders _who were born after 9/11. A whole generation coming on who never lived in a world where you could just grab a cab to the airport and hop on a plane. Where you didn't take for granted someone would be reading your email or listening in on your phone calls. Where a stray suitcase lying around was just a suitcase, not a potential bomb. It doesn't have the significance for them because they've never known anything different. We gave up a hell of a lot of our freedom after 9/11, and it was necessary to—to keep the world functioning. But now, because we've never taken it back—because these kids take that as the new normal—al Qaeda won a victory. Oh, they paid for it, and they're gonna keep payin', as long as guys like me have anything to say about it. But this country's never going to be what it was on the tenth of September, 2001."

"Wounds leave scars, and some of 'em cripple. But you can come back stronger."

"History's going to have to determine whether we have or not. And either way, that doesn't make the men and women who died in the attacks and the years since, any less gone."

"No. Nothin' does that," Ironhide agreed.

The two fell silent. Maybe some could not remember, but they could never forget.


End file.
